Hunches
by Maud2
Summary: A series of RLNT vignettes on how life at Nr 12 is made a little more bearable.
1. The Bedroom

A/N: Of course none of this really belongs to me. Throughout, Brittney, Eyeshadow5746, has saved me from the non-native-speakers grammatical errors. Thanks!! Originally intended as nothing but a first try at a R/T drabble, this grew to a series of ficlets set in the Christmas holidays of the year following OtP. Reviews would be nice.  
  
Tonks' room was empty. Ginny thought she should try the drawing room, sometimes nightmares and worries drove the residents of Nr 12 to doze there in the uncomfortable armchairs rather than lie tossing and turning in bed. Then, following a sudden impulse, acting on something she thought she might or might not know, she slipped upstairs instead, then down two doors in the hallway.  
  
She paused. This was where Professor Lupin lived. The room should be empty, she'd seen him leave early in the morning after a hurried breakfast and a whispered exchange with her mother. Still, knocking lightly, she stepped in in the room. Shimmering light filtered through heavy curtains that had been carefully closed to keep morning light out, dust particles dancing in it's rays.  
  
And she'd been right. At the far side of the bed, on the window side, where Lupin's old dressing gown was slung over the back of a chair and an assortment of scraps of old parchment and books littered both the chair and the bedside table, proclaiming 'someone lives here' much more clearly than the tall wardrobe and bare floorboards on the other side, Tonks had buried her face in a corner of a pillow and snuggled down in the middle of the heap of blankets. At some point she had slipped over, trying to nestle where safe warmth still lingered. Now, she sniffed a little in her sleep.  
  
Ginny looked at her, then a satisfied grin replaced the momentary wistful look on her face, and she spoke. 


	2. The Drawing Room

Of course, none of this really belongs to me. Im just curious as to how one might make life at Nr. 12 a little more bearable.  
  
Wandering around at Nr. 12 Grimmauld Place in the middle of the night was somewhat intimidating, but not as intimidating as the all too vivid memories of his nightmares and the looming presence of Phineas Nigellus just behind the frame of his picture. Harry padded barefoot down the dark hallway. Going down to the kitchen would mean passing the portrait of Mrs. Black, thus waking the entire house and being smothered in Mrs. Weasley's well-meaning concern. It would have to be the drawing room. Ginny had pulled a blanket from the couch around her shoulders earlier, if that was still there...  
  
Harry pressed down the handle of the drawing room door and was surprised to see mild, warm light flooding out of the widening crack as he pushed the door open. Just like last year, a tall Christmas tree blocked the hateful family tree from view. Now, in the yellow, flickering light from scattered candles, the room seemed almost homelike.  
  
In one of the armchairs Tonks was curled up, tilting her head to one side, she had propped her chin up with a hand. Looking slightly drowsy, she considered her sleeping companion on the other side of the table. Lost to the world, Lupin had his feet up on the armrest of his couch. The latest edition of the Daily Prophet was inches away from fluttering to the floor, as sleep had loosened his grip on it. It rustled a little with each slow rise and fall of his chest.  
  
As Harry entered, Tonks looked up sharply and made a movement to reach out and wake Lupin. The drowsiness was gone from her face in an instant and watchfulness replaced it, but Harry shrugged and gave a light shake of his head to stop her. That wouldn't be necessary, really. Nothing had happened. He'd just...  
  
Tonks lifted her eyebrows questioningly in a manner Harry felt sure he'd seen somewhere before, but then it seemed she decided not to press the issue. "I'll make you some cocoa then," she said lightly, and slipped out of her chair with uncharacteristic grace.  
  
Standing, she waved her wand and extinguished the large chandelier on the desk. A few scattered candles were left burning. The soft reflections of these remaining lights let the dregs in their glasses glow a deep amber. Ushering Harry out in the hallway, Tonks took care to close the door gently. "Though he'll sleep through anything, really," she muttered softly. With a hand on his back, she guided Harry down the stairs towards the kitchen. 


	3. The Kitchen

None of this is mine, of course. Many thanks to the reviewers of earlier chapters. You really made my day! Last but not least, thanks also to Brittney, who did the editing.  
  
The passing of the Christmas holidays at Nr. 12 had been continuously marked by the hushed coming and goings of different members of the Order. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had not been able to make much sense of these. Even Fred and George, who had been more forthcoming during the summer, had been oddly reticent lately. That afternoon, Lupin, Bill, and Mundungus Fletcher had been cooped up in the drawing room for hours on end. When the meeting finally ended, Mundungus' parting shot by the unbolted door had been a not-so-hushed 'you're both crazy,' which had set off the shrieks of Mrs. Black's portrait again. Mrs. Weasley looked constantly worried and though he had not mentioned this to the others, Harry felt that what little information Tonks had let slip the other night had rather added to his worries. Something was going on  
  
Hermione had suggested the boys' bedroom for their night-time council, but Harry, knowing something about how light the sleep of the other residents in fact was, had insisted on using the kitchen. Now, as they waited to slip downstairs, all was quiet. When they finally ventured down past the menacing portrait, there had been no sound of movement in the house for the last quarter of an hour. Passing Mrs. Black, they waited a moment with bated breath, but the portrait's curtains remained closed and the silence undisturbed.  
  
It appeared they had broken some sort of a charm placed on the kitchen door, because Harry could have sworn there had been no hint of sound or light from behind it. At first, no one took any notice of their entry.  
  
Professor Lupin had his back to them where he stood in his shirt sleeves, watching something sizzle in a pan on the fire. He was humming slightly, following the low tune from the wireless that was perched on a shelf. Where it had come from, Harry didn't know. Tonks was next to him, busy sniffing appreciatively at the pan.  
  
At the table, there lay a thick black tome, bearing the title 'A Concise Chart of Curious Wards'. It had been abandoned face down together with a quill and a roll of parchment, half-filled with scribbled diagrams. Two chairs had been pulled out and left at odd angles. One pulled out only a quarter, as if someone had been sitting there with his feet up, jotting down absentminded notes, only to get up suddenly. It occurred to Harry by the door that this person would have been facing the clock on the mantelpiece.  
  
Then there was the characteristic smell of wet wool drying in the heat, emanating from Tonks' cloak, which hung damp with snow over the back of a chair. She had kicked her boots off too, (comma) and now she stood by the fire, feet clad in socks only, peeking over Lupin's shoulder. Her hand rested lightly on his back, at a point just below his collar. They were different. The set of Lupin's shoulders had relaxed and as Tonks turned round at the sound of Hermione's awkward cough, Harry saw that though the toll her double workload was taking on her was still visible in her face, her face was alight now and a little flushed.  
  
Lupin turned too.  
  
"Oh, a midnight council," he said, an amused look settling on his face as he took in their startled appearance.  
  
Harry smiled back. They were, after all, huddled together just past the threshold, and had nearly trodden on each others heals as they had come to their sudden halt. "You're welcome to join ours, of course," Lupin went on briskly. "Otherwise I believe the drawing room is empty. Either way, you should probably close that door." 


	4. The Kitchen II

Many thanks (again) to the reviewers of the earlier 'chapters' – I'd never have got this far without your encouragement. Special thanks to Brittney for fixing my grammatical errors. Of course, this does not belong to me.  
  
For the past three days, Ginny had been hard put to not to confide to Hermione what she had discovered. She had, however, given her word. When she had woken Tonks up to take the firecall, Tonks, still half asleep, had mumbled something unintelligible, then tumbled automatically out of bed. Ginny figured only the pain from hitting a toe against the wardrobe woke her up properly. After that, Ginny had been too busy supporting her as she cursed under her breath to ask further questions or give air to the satisfaction she felt at having her hunch from a summer evening prove to be true. Still, as she'd made to hurry downstairs, Tonks had paused a moment with her hand on the doorpost and turned to Ginny, 'Don't tell,' she had said, her earnest voice strangely at odds with her spiky, pink hair and crinkles from sleep still visible on her cheek.  
  
With the snow, icy cold had crept into the hallways of Grimmauld Place and made them all wrap up in sweaters and blankets, huddling in front of the fireplaces. Just now, Tonks had wound her woollen scarf an extra time around her neck before venturing outside. It appeared no one took any notice that for an instant, before she yawned her good-byes to hurry up the stairs, Tonks' right-hand fingers rested light as a feather on the top of Lupin's shoulder, and nor did anyone seem to find anything unusual about the way he smiled back up at her just then. Harry chose this moment to send the salt dancing over the table, but as Ginny caught his glance, he looked away quickly.  
  
Now, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had already disappeared up the stairs, Ginny's mother coming with them to make sure the fire in the drawing room didn't go out. Lupin got up and made to clear the remnants of breakfast away from the table. Ginny remained seated. Head in hands, elbows planted firmly on the table, she fixed him with an exasperated stare.  
  
"I just don't get it," she said. "Why don't you just tell everyone?"  
  
He leant back against the sink, a nearly drained teacup still in his hand. The spoon made slight clinking noises against the rim of the cup as he absently stirred the dregs at the bottom. He looked tired.  
  
For a moment, Ginny regretted she had asked. After all, Lupin was a very private man, although they tended to forget this given his ability to handle any Weasley family crisis, and his way to make light of the hardships that went with being a werewolf. Maybe he felt this belonged to them and to their night-time selves only, like nightmares or fear of darkness better not mentioned in the light of day. But this wasn't Order business, this wasn't bad, Ginny insisted. This was nice.  
  
He gave the hint of a shake of his head. "It's all right," he said, regarding her thoughtfully. He was a teacher. He would strive to answer any question she'd pose. "You would wonder that."  
  
He put his cup down on the sink beside him. The spoon rattled a final 'clink' against the saucer. "I'm scared," he offered simply. "Good things are the ones we let slip most easily. The more people who know, the more likely it is that..." He half-shrugged, glanced around the gloomy kitchen, then met her gaze steadily, "If Voldemort knew, he would use it. It's one advantage I'd rather he didn't have."  
  
They cleared the table companionably. Judging by the frown appearing between his eyebrows and by the urgency she had heard in Tonks' voice earlier, Ginny guessed there had to be more to the matter than this. As an explanation, it didn't quite add up Anyone in the Order would know to keep a secret. As for them, the children, they did too. Lupin's vague smile before he finally put the last cups away and left, seemed to confirm this. Alone in the dim light of the cavernous kitchen, however, Ginny thought of Bellatrix's taunting voice between the dusty shelves deep in the Department of Mysteries and, for now, she understood. 


	5. The Kitchen III

This is the fifth and final piece of Hunches. Thanks (again) to Brittney, Eyeshadow5745, for the editing and to the reviewers of earlier 'chapters' for your encouragement. None of this belongs to me. Reviews would be nice.  
  
When the strap of his shoulder-bag snapped under its load and Mrs. Weasley already was busy admonishing Ginny on the proper way to pack a trunk, Harry hurried downstairs to look for Tonks instead. She was to come with them on the Knight bus the following day and should be somewhere in the house. He found her in the kitchen, at the table, staring emptily over the edges of a slim red book. As he entered, she jumped guiltily in her seat and looked up hastily, as if she hadn't intended to be caught like this.  
  
Quickly recovering her poise, Tonks mended the sling of his bag with a tap of her wand. As Harry made to go back upstairs, she resumed her seat and picked up her book again. Below the table, she put her feet up on a chair on the opposite side, grimacing irritably as she upset the one next to it as well. It came back down on its four legs with a clatter.  
  
The night before, Lupin had steered the conversation away from the work of the Order by telling them about Mundungus' latest business achievements. These left Ron gasping with glee, and though Hermione tried to scold them, eventually she was huffing not with disapproval, but with laughter as well. Harry had let himself be distracted, reassured by the fact that there was no edge of disguised worry in Lupin's voice, and that the twinkling light from the fire appeared to have settled permanently in his eyes. If Lupin could jest and smile, then surely there was no immediate need to worry. The soft expression Tonks wore as she looked up from her plate to join in their exchange, had not occupied as much of Harry's attention, but he felt fairly certain he knew what that meant too.  
  
In August, Lupin had asked him not to worry too much about the war, "I know it might have to be different in the end, Harry, but for now, try to leave the Death Eaters to us." Lupin had spoken quietly but sincerely, and by and large, Harry had obliged. Four months later, however, the effects of this conversation were wearing off. During the day, he could see the strain on everyone's faces, each of them wearing looks of increasing concern. Tonks' disconsolate demeanour now was no exception.  
  
"What's going on?" he asked bluntly. She glanced up quickly, taken aback by his question. Harry ploughed on, set on not allowing this chance slip through his hands, "What is it they've been working on lately? Where's Lupin?"  
  
Tonks shook her head. "I shouldn't even know half of it myself," she said, poking the burning candlestick in front of her moodily with the sharp end of her quill, causing the fluid wax to trickle away down the candle. Harry waited, arms crossed decisively over his chest, the school bag dangling from his hand. She stole another glance up at him and he stared back haughtily, though even as he did so, he felt a pang of guilty conscience. He didn't draw his breath until she looked away to stare down at the table again.  
  
Before Tonks answered, she slumped back in her chair and pulled her robes tighter around herself. Still speaking more to the scarred wooden top of the table than to him, she began in a would-be chipper voice.  
  
"It's a break-in actually, tearing down wards and stuff, and sneaking up on Death Eaters. Hopefully, not getting noticed while they're at it," Tonks flipped over the book in front of her, 'Ways around Wards', it bore the official seal of the Ministry of Magic. She tapped her index finger against it. "It's been put off for days due to the weather being too clear, and of course Remus, the stupid git, has to insist on doing it himself, since he's the only one who's actually seen this kind of ward before and... I know Dumbledore agreed with him..." There was an impatient stress on 'know' and her voice rose angrily before it trailed off again, "but I still..."  
  
The quill she had, with considerable force, been twirling around her fingers, finally bent. She forced back a sigh and threw the curly shreds down the table, where the disfigured feather bounced and slipped to the floor. Harry, who couldn't help feeling guilty at the distress in her voice, shifted the weight on his feet uncertainly and hoisted the shoulder- bag up with a firmer grip. Right there, Tonks' unhappiness was quite as un- nerving to Harry as the thought of the risks Lupin might be taking. Tonks was supposed to be the cheerful one, the one who made them all smile with the evermore outrageous colours of her hair and her clumsiness.  
  
She looked up, startled out of her tirade by the quill giving way and seemed to read his mind. She smoothed a strand of dark hair back out of her eyes, "Don't worry, Harry. It'll be all right, I promise." At first, she seemed to be speaking as much to herself as to him, but then, her air was once more that of the eager, young Auror who had the cheek to talk back to Mad-Eye Moody. "It'll all be much easier when they've managed to get through once and it'll be dead useful," she assured him. "Remus's good at wards," she added as she sat up properly again, a note of pride to the words. She leant forward, propping her chin on her hands, and peered up at him. "He'll be here to see us off tomorrow. I'll just wait up and see for sure."  
  
Harry nodded. "That's good, then," he said. The thought of her, waiting through the night in the gloomy kitchen, anxiously flicking through the pages of an old handbook, was disturbing and comforting at the same time.  
  
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, not knowing how to express that thought or whether doing so would be a good idea at all, and looked away. When he turned to her again, he saw the smile on Tonks' face broaden and spread swiftly to her eyes. Before he could think what to say, she waved a hand at him and dismissed him cheerfully, "Go get packed, Potter, make my mum proud. And don't breathe a word to anyone, right?"  
  
Harry grinned. Cheerfulness he could handle. Secrets, of all sorts, as well.  
  
Eventually, though, he must have slept lighter than usual, though, for in the small hours of the night, when the darkness was still complete and the first feeble glints of grey light had not yet begun to seep through the curtains, he thought he heard the sound of the heavy front door falling shut. Before he could feel any real relief at this, he drifted off once more. 


End file.
